The Night Before Christmas
by The Snow Leopard
Summary: On the night before Christmas in Glasgow, a 16 year old street entertainer and his landlady find an abandoned child.


Title: The Night Before Christmas  
Author: Paula Stiles (thesnowleopard@hotmail.com)  
Series: PRE-DS9  
Part: NEW 1/1  
Rating: [PG, for language and not so happy people]  
Codes: B&f  
  
Summary: On the night before Christmas in Glasgow, a 16 year old street  
entertainer and his Bajoran landlady find an abandoned child.  
  
Disclaimer: The grinches at Paramount own Trek and all of the characters in it. I'm  
not making any money off of this story (which is mine). Really. Please don't bother  
to sue me. I live overseas and I'm skint.  
  
Archive: Sure, if you ask.  
  
  
  
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS  
  
Little baby,  
I am a poor boy, too.  
I have no gift to bring  
That's fit to give a king.  
Shall I play for you  
On my drum?  
The Little Drummer Boy  
  
  
"Oy! Ge'rrof, you little git!" Julian pounced on the young boy trying to steal his  
juggling kit.  
  
"Bugger off, Santa!" the brat yelled back, whacking Julian with a sparkly-painted,  
plastic club. Then, he dove for Julian's Risan glowbaubles.  
  
Julian snapped. "Give me back my balls you sorry little bastard!" he bawled.  
"That's two weeks of my hard-earned money!" Ignoring how his working-class  
London accent rang down the hallowed halls of the William Wallace Memorial Mall,  
Julian snatched a glowbauble out of the boy's hand, grabbed him by the collar, and  
shook him. Pushing back his worn, red Santa hood, he glared at the boy.  
  
"Got you, you nasty, little monkey," he snarled. "Now you can help me clean up  
the mess you made."  
  
"Ow, Ower, Ow!" the boy yowled, attracting righteous scowls from passersby.  
"Lemme go or my grandad will make you!"  
  
"Make him do what?" Both Julian and the boy looked up at the elderly man  
nearby. He leaned against a storefront corner, arms folded. He looked decidedly  
amused.  
  
"Grandad, eh?" Julian said heavily. He shoved the boy at the man. "Does this  
belong to you, then?"  
  
"Ay, I'm afraid he does," the man said in a heavy Paisley brogue. He opened his  
arms. "Just hand him over."  
  
Sighing in resignation, Julian released the boy, who immediately ran to the man.   
  
"Go ahead and thump 'im, Grandad!" he yelled from behind the man's long,  
brown coat.  
  
Julian got down on his hands and knees to pick up his juggling kit. The brat had  
scattered balls, rings, sticks, and clubs of all sorts of colors and lighting schemes on  
the blue, mirror-tiled floor. Last-minute Glaswegian shoppers, with and without  
screaming children, had been hurrying through the Mall since 9am. This was the  
third irritating wee monster Julian had fought off today. Thank God Christmas only  
came once per year.  
  
"Thump 'im good, grandad!" bellowed the kid cheerfully.  
  
"Thump him? I don't think so," Grandad retorted.  
  
"Don't bother yourself with that, young man," he told Julian. "I'm sure that my  
grandson will be happy to clean up the mess he made. Won't you, Ian?"  
  
"Awww, gran-dad," the brat whined.  
  
"Don't you 'grandad' me, little lad," Grandad said firmly. "You know better than to  
make a mess around me that you don't intend to pick up. I'm not your parents. Now,  
get to it."  
  
Julian stared up at the old man, who grinned at him and winked. Julian couldn't  
help grinning back. Then, he sat back on his heels and watched as the boy  
grumpily set to work sorting his juggling kit.  
  
"Thank you," he said to the man when his grandson had finished.  
  
"You're welcome," the man replied cheerfully. He didn't bother to make Julian  
direct his 'thank you' at the brat, Julian noticed.  
  
"Come here, Ian," the man said, when the boy had done. The boy returned to the  
man, looking morose. "Now apologize."  
  
"Gran-daaaad," the brat whined. "He's just a busker--an' he's a sassinach, too."  
  
"Do it, Ian," the man growled. "Now. Or you're gonna find out just how much coal  
Santa can stuff in your stocking tonight. An English street musician deserves your  
respect just as much as I do."  
  
The boy looked at the floor, scuffed the tiles, and muttered an apology. His  
grandfather made him repeat it until Julian could hear it echo across the Mall.  
Grandad then stepped forward and pressed five latinum strips into Julian's hand.  
  
"Here you go, son," he said. "Merry Christmas."  
  
Julian was startled. "Uh...thank you," he said, his hand closing reflexively over  
the money.  
  
"You're welcome," the man replied, smiling wryly. "Ian's a good lad, really. He's  
just not being raised very well." He grabbed his grandson by his coat collar. "Come  
on, you. Let's go home and see if your grandmother has figured out the new  
replicator yet."  
  
Julian watched them go. He sighed. Grandad had a good idea, there. Pity Julian  
didn't really have a home. Still, he was exhausted from juggling and singing carols  
all day. The hostel was warm. He had his own bed, there. Mrs. Anar, his landlady,  
had promised to cook a nice, duck dinner. With grandad's generous tip, Julian  
thought he might actually be able to buy both a present for her and that box of  
Delavian chocolates he'd been drooling over for weeks.  
  
He picked up his juggling kit, slung it over his shoulder, and trudged off toward  
the Mall exit.  
  
Outside, Julian huddled under an awning with two Vulcans, a Tellarite, and 10  
grumpy Glaswegians. No, wait. Not all of the Humans were Scots. Two older  
women standing behind him were discussing the weather in thick, Geordie  
accents. They were being both uncomplimentary and too accurate. Well, they  
wouldn't be the first English to move to Scotland and end up hating it. Julian  
watched the rain pour down, glumly reflecting that the last time it had rained this  
hard in Great Britain, York had been under water. Some Christmas Eve.  
  
He *would* move back to a country where the locals were so used to rain that  
they didn't bother to build domes over their cities. No wonder his parents had  
moved to Australia. But then, that was why he'd moved back up here.  
  
Eventually, the rain let up a bit and everyone hurried down the street to their  
various destinations. Julian decided to cut down West Nile Street and head for the  
hostel. He could stay under street awnings while in the town center, but there was a  
good half mile of open street before the hostel. With luck, it might stop raining  
altogether before he finished his errands. Then again, Glasgow might see an  
impromptu pig airshow, too.  
  
Julian skirted a large creche in the town center. At 4 o'clock, the sun had already  
set. The creche lit up the darkness with Christmas lights and a large, illuminated  
star overhanging the manger. As he passed by, he thought he heard a wail.   
  
He stopped, causing two older boys behind him to curse as they shouldered  
past. He looked around, listening intently. Then, he heard it again. None of the  
other shoppers streaming by seemed to have noticed. That didn't surprise him. He  
had exceptional hearing.  
  
He was finally able to locate the source of the noise on the third wail. It was  
coming from the creche.  
  
He approached the creche warily. From a distance, nothing looked out of the  
ordinary. Whoever had built the stable had done a good job. The well-lit Nativity  
scene looked warm and dry. The creche figures were traditional--no holograms, no  
robotics, just plaster and paint. Dark-skinned Joseph wore a brown cloak and  
looked stolidly responsible. Mary was pale, with brown hair glimpsed under a  
blue-hooded mantle. The shepherds (added that day) looked properly amazed.  
The dozy cows and sheep were too well-groomed to have seen a Scottish field.  
The wise men hadn't yet arrived.  
  
Julian stepped closer, and saw the difference. The baby Jesus was real.  
  
He lay in the manger, just as the old story said. The blanket that wrapped him  
round was white, covered with rainbow sequins. He had been crying, until he  
looked up and saw Julian gazing down at him. Then, he smiled.  
  
The baby's black eyes focussed with remarkable awareness on Julian. His skin  
was slightly darker than Julian's. Julian wondered who would have abandoned a  
baby like that on Christmas Eve. Could it be possible that this baby was like Julian?  
Had his parents been found out? Had they abandoned him in a panic? But why  
had they left him in the creche? Irony aside, it wasn't likely that anybody would  
have found him quickly. There was too much noise on the street.  
  
Julian turned to walk away. Aside from life education classes in school, he didn't  
know anything about taking care of babies. He'd only just turned 16, himself. Any  
patience and nurturing instinct he'd had for the day, he'd lost fending off little brats  
in the Mall for six hours. He didn't even have a home. If it weren't for the  
interplanetary hostel system in Sector 001, he'd be sleeping rough. And this baby--  
surely, he had a mother. Surely, somebody was looking for him, or missing him.  
  
Julian thought of his own mother in Australia, and hesitated. Was she thinking  
about him today? Did she miss him at all? Did anybody?  
  
Julian knelt down beside the manger. The baby waved two tiny fists at him.  
When Julian reached out, the baby grabbed his finger and gurgled. Julian couldn't  
help feeling pleasure that at least somebody was happy to see him today.  
  
"Ah, damn." Julian sighed again in resignation, as thoughts of Delavian  
chocolates gave way to calculations of where he could buy diapers and formula.  
Gently, awkwardly, he scooped the baby up, blanket and all, tried to wrap his jacket  
closer around the both of them, and hurried down the road toward the hostel.   
  
  
  
  
The break in the weather he'd been hoping for did not materialize. He was  
soaked through by the time he reached Mrs. Anar's B&B. Fortunately, he'd been  
able to protect the baby from most of the rain. That made it worthwhile, which saved  
him from the foul mood he would otherwise have been in by now.  
  
Mrs. Anar was an elderly Bajoran, past 90 years old. She seemed less spiritual  
than most Bajorans, unsentimental, and very quiet, but Julian didn't think she'd  
mind a baby. She had a knack of keeping the disparate members of the hostel from  
irritating each other. If Renny the 60-something syntheholic from Mars, Bigger the  
hyper-Vegan anarchist from Andor, and Gibs the future Orion Syndicate operative  
from Aberdeen could eat their replicated corn flakes peacably at the same table  
every morning, then somebody was running that particular household well.  
  
Fortunately, the hostel was deserted this week. Julian slipped in through the  
door and headed down the hallway to the kitchen in back. "Mrs. Anar?" he called.  
"Mrs. Anar, I found something in town. I'd like you to see it."  
  
"We're in here, Julian," Mrs. Anar answered back from the kitchen.  
  
"We? Who's we--" Julian stopped dead in the kitchen doorway. "Oh," he  
whimpered.  
  
Mrs. Anar sat, her white hair braided down her back, sipping tea at her kitchen  
table. Across from her sat a black-haired woman, wearing a long-sleeved maroon  
dress. The woman had been crying, making her look older than her 30-something  
years. When she saw Julian, though, she broke into a smile that revealed her  
crooked front teeth.  
  
"Jules!" she exclaimed. "Thank God."  
  
Julian looked at Mrs. Anar's cracked, parquet floor and scuffed his feet. "Hullo,  
Mum," he said reluctantly.  
  
When he looked up again, he felt a stab of guilt. Her smile had vanished. But,  
she stepped forward and hugged him anyway. The baby wailed in protest.  
  
"You didn't call. You didn't write. We didn't know where you were," she said. "We  
didn't even know if you were alive or dead." She drew back. "And what is this? Is  
this child yours?"  
  
Julian clutched the baby defensively. "I found him in the big creche in town. His  
mum abandoned him." His mother seemed to notice the bitterness in his voice, for  
she winced. "I'm going to take care of him now."  
  
Mrs. Anar looked bemused. "You found him in the creche? What an odd place to  
leave a baby. On my world, people would see that as a sign."  
  
Exasperated, his mother shook her head. "Really, you make it sound as though  
he were the Second Coming. Jules, what has gotten into you? You were always  
such a good boy, and now this--"  
  
"Mrs. Bashir!" Mrs. Anar stepped forward. Julian's mother started. Julian backed  
away from her, back into the hallway. "Julian," Mrs. Anar said. He stopped.  
  
"It's all right, Julian," Mrs. Anar said. "Come in and have a seat. I'll fix you some  
tea and we'll see about feeding your little one."  
  
All Julian wanted to do was leave. Then, the baby stirred in his arms. Surely it  
was his feeding time. Julian couldn't just run back out onto the streets with a hungry  
infant. So, he came back into the kitchen, and sat down. Mrs. Anar put him in  
charge of heating the formula he'd picked up and fixing some tea while she  
dragged his mother off to the attic to find a baby carrier. The star of the hour lay on  
the kitchen table, waved his fists, and gurgled to himself.  
  
Julian cradled the baby. "What am I going to do with you?" he said. "I made a  
promise. If I have to leave, I won't be able to take you with me. Mrs. Anar is right. It  
wouldn't be fair."  
  
Julian was glad for the parenting lessons he'd had in school. He'd always  
preferred them to cooking classes, or even DIY (although he could do basic repairs  
on a commconsole, if he had to). Interacting with a baby was much more fun. It was  
almost like having a patient--not that he was likely to ever be a doctor, now.  
  
No. That dream that his parents had supported so enthusiastically, they had  
destroyed on his 15th birthday. And his own, secret dream of joining Starfleet had  
vanished in the same instant. Because, when he had been 6 years old, his father  
had taken him to Adigeon Prime and had had him genetically enhanced. Because,  
when Julian had turned 15, he'd found out.  
  
He'd found out the real reason why he'd been so bright in school, why he'd  
been so good at tennis, why his father had shuttled their family all over the sector.  
He was illegal, unnatural, a thing.  
  
Julian had settled into a chair with the baby and a bottle by the time Mrs. Anar  
and his mother returned. His mother frowned at him, but took her tea and sat across  
the table from him without comment. Mrs. Anar brought the carrier in and set it on  
the floor.  
  
"When he's ready to sleep, you can put him in there for awhile," she told Julian.  
"I've set up a crib in one of the spare rooms upstairs."  
  
"Thank you," Julian said. "It's all right to keep him here at the house, isn't it?"  
  
His mother's frown deepened. "Jules..."  
  
"Mum," Julian returned, through his teeth. "My name is 'Julian,' now."  
  
"Julian," Mrs. Anar put in gently. "We need to talk about what to do about this  
baby. I think we all can agree that we should do whatever is best for him, yes?"  
  
"I can take care of him," Julian insisted.  
  
"Jules...Julian," his mother said. "You're just a child, yourself. How could you  
possibly take care of this baby?"  
  
"I can take care of myself," Julian retorted. "I've done all right so far, haven't I?"  
  
"Done all right?" His mother exclaimed. "You've run away from home. You've cut  
yourself off from your family and friends. You don't have a place of your own. What  
kind of parent can you be to this child?"  
  
*A better one than you and Dad*, Julian thought, but didn't quite dare say.  
Nevertheless, something in his glare betrayed his emotions to his mother. Her lips  
thinned.  
  
Mrs. Anar broke the tension. "We don't have to come to a decision right now,"  
she said. "It looks as though you've gotten enough formula and diapers for the next  
several days, and I'm sure that I have enough supplies from the last family who  
stayed here to keep this baby perfectly happy. So, let's just sit tight until after  
Christmas, shall we? We can make a decision then."  
  
"Fine," Julian said truculently.  
  
"Mrs. Anar, could you take the baby for a little while?" his mother said tightly. "I  
would like to speak to my son alone."  
  
Julian shrank down in his chair. Mrs. Anar glanced warily at him, then at his  
mother. "With all due respect, Mrs. Bashir," she said. "That is your son's decision,  
not mine."  
  
Julian relaxed, but tensed again when she added, "On the other hand, Julian, I  
think that you and your mother do need to talk. You could put it off, but the longer  
you wait, the more difficult it would be, I think."  
  
Julian hated the waver in his voice when he said, "Do I have to? Can't I just stay  
here with the baby?"  
  
His mother took a deep breath and visibly swallowed her anger. "Jules--Julian, I  
only want to talk. It's all right."  
  
"Here. I'll take him while you two have your chat." Mrs. Anar stood up stiffly,  
came over, and took the baby from Julian's arms. She patted Julian on the  
shoulder.  
  
"It will be all right," she said, as the baby cooed and tugged on her earring chain.  
"You'll see." She went out of the kitchen, gently pulling the door closed behind her.  
  
Julian and his mother stared at each other for a few minutes. Then, she came  
over and hugged him. Julian flinched, but she didn't pull back.  
  
"Jules," she said, sounding near to tears. "Tell me why you did this. What is  
going on?"  
  
"Nothing. I just wanted to come back to Britain, that's all," Julian said. He  
huddled inside his mother's embrace, closing himself away from her.  
  
"I'm sorry that I was angry before," his mother said. "But, you were so cold. I've  
been so frightened for you. You just disappeared one day without a word and  
never came back. Your father and I--" Julian shuddered at the mention of his father.  
"--we were worried about you. It's been over a year since we last heard from you. I  
didn't know what was happening or where you were. So, when I heard where you  
were, I rushed right up here."  
  
"Who told you that I was here?" Julian asked, dodging the confrontation for as  
long as he could.  
  
"The Planetary Juggling Society contacted me about sending you some free  
promotional offer," his mother explained. "They had your address here in Glasgow."  
  
Julian cursed himself silently. He'd forgotten all about them. The Society officers  
had insisted on a real home address when he'd signed up for a demonstrator's  
license in their annual London festival. Then, he'd had to give them his hostel  
address in Scotland so that they could send him some laser rings that he'd  
accidentally left behind at the festival. It had been unforgivingly sloppy of him to  
leave such a direct connection. He'd have to cover his tracks better, next time.  
  
"I see," he said finally. "Is Dad here?"  
  
His mother shook her head. "He's found a job working as a secretary for the  
consulate on Rigel VII for three months. I was afraid that you would disappear  
before I had a chance to get up here. So, I came up right away. I'm going to contact  
him in the morning."  
  
"No," Julian said.  
  
His mother pulled back and held him at arm's length. "Jules," she said sternly.  
"Don't be difficult. I know that things have not been good between you two the past  
few years, but you are going to have to see him when you come home, anyway."  
  
Julian took a deep breath, and let it out very slowly. "Mum," he said. "I'm not  
coming home."  
  
His mother's mouth tightened. "Jules, what is wrong with you? If you don't go  
back to school now, you won't be able to catch up in time to get into Starfleet  
Medical Academy when you're 18. Now, don't be foolish. You're coming home with  
me tomorrow."  
  
Gently but deliberately, Julian pulled free of his mother's grip. "I'm not coming  
home, Mum. And I'm not going to Starfleet Academy, or medical school, either."  
  
"What?! But--why?"  
  
"You know why, Mum." With a regretful sort of detachment, Julian watched the  
blood drain from his mother's face. She opened her mouth, but seconds stretched  
by as she remained speechless.  
  
Finally, she managed, "How? How did you find out?"  
  
"I heard you and Dad fighting, two days before my birthday last year. I heard you  
mention Adigeon Prime, and I remembered the trip Dad took me on when I was six.  
Then, I looked up Adigeon Prime, which, it seems, has been suspected for years of  
selling illegal genetic enhancements, and put two and two together. I'm rather good  
at putting two and two together, Mum. It makes up four."  
  
"Julian," his mother said faintly. "I'm sorry. I had no idea that you...but it doesn't  
mean that you can't go on to medical school. Nobody knows what we did; I swear.  
Your secret is safe with us."  
  
*As safe as it can be with a couple of liars and cheats,* he thought bitterly. *I  
thought you taught me not to be a hypocrite, Mum.* He said nothing, though, and  
kept his face as blank as he could.  
  
"It's all right, Mum," he said. "I understand." He didn't, not really. But then, he  
didn't want to, either.  
  
She pulled him back into an embrace. He endured it, and tried not to shrink  
away. "We'll make it right, Jules. I promise," she whispered. "I'll call your father  
tomorrow and we'll go back home. Everything will turn out well. You'll see."  
  
At that moment, Mrs. Anar came back into the room with the baby. When she  
saw mother and son embracing, she broke into a smile. Then, she saw Julian's  
face over his mother's shoulder. The smile disappeared. She knew.  
  
*Please don't tell her,* he thought. Mrs. Anar, bless her, seemed to read his  
mind. By the time his mother had realized that his landlady was back in the room  
and had turned around, Mrs. Anar had summoned up a cheerful expression. This  
smile was not as genuine as the first, but as his mother hadn't seen the first one,  
she didn't appear to notice the difference.  
  
"So," Mrs. Anar said brightly. "Have we all made up, then?"  
  
Julian's mother nodded. There were tears on her cheeks. "We've decided to go  
back to Australia tomorrow. I'm going to call Jules' father and see how soon he can  
come home."  
  
Mrs. Anar glanced at Julian, who felt as though his face had suddenly set into  
stone. "Ah," she said. "So you'll be leaving us, then, Julian? Well, we will miss you,  
though I'm sure it's for the best. I'm cooking Christmas dinner tonight. Why don't  
you join me and we can celebrate your reunion together?"  
  
Julian's mother tried to plead modesty, then exhaustion. Mrs. Anar's, however,  
was for once the stronger will. She soon had Julian's mother sweet-talked  
(perhaps strong-armed was a better word) into staying for dinner.  
  
Julian busied himself with fussing over the baby. He ate little. The duck dinner,  
which he had been looking forward to all day, was tasteless. He forced himself to  
act normally, to throw off his mother's suspicions. If it hadn't been for the baby's  
cheerful gurgling and Mrs. Anar's silent stolidity, though, he would have screamed  
his head off.  
  
After dinner, he clung to the baby, sitting grimly through his mother's attempts to  
manufacture holiday cheer. It didn't help that she didn't know how--being from a  
culture that neither needed nor wanted a Christian/Pagan winter holiday.  
Fortunately, transporter lag hit her at about ten o'clock. By Australian time, it was  
early morning and she'd been up all night already. It didn't take much persuasion  
to get her to go to bed. Mrs. Anar disappeared upstairs with her for a few moments  
to make up her bed. Julian stayed down in the kitchen with the baby, changing his  
diaper and making him a warm bottle of milk.  
  
Mrs. Anar came back downstairs. "Are you sure that you're all right, Julian? You  
look upset."  
  
"I'm fine," Julian lied. He stood with his back to her, testing warm formula on his  
forearm.  
  
"Don't lie to me, Julian." The old landlady sat down at the table. "I've been here  
long enough to know a Human child injured by a secret. I also know what it's like to  
live in Paradise, and be the only one to not love it."  
  
Julian didn't answer. Instead, he concentrated on settling himself back down in  
the chair with the baby and feeding him. When Mrs. Anar reached across the table,  
and stroked his cheek, he refused to flinch.  
  
"Did he ever hit you?" she asked gently. "Is that why you won't see him?"  
  
Julian pretended ignorance. "Who?"  
  
"You know who. Your father. Did he ever hit you?"  
  
"Sometimes." Julian shook his head. "Not after I grew up enough to hit him back.  
It wasn't so much what he did, as what he said. He's very, very good at making you  
feel very, very small. Maybe even as small as him; I don't know."  
  
"Is that why you want to raise this baby?" she asked. "He's a nice baby, I'll grant  
you. Unusually good-tempered. Still, surely you have other things that you'd like to  
do in your life."  
  
"People raise babies and still do all sorts of things," Julian retorted.  
  
"True," Mrs. Anar agreed. "But some people use babies as a way to trap and  
label other people. If you choose to raise a baby now--this baby--you'll have to risk  
that trap. I can't see your parents helping you stay out of it. I don't mean to insult  
your family, but as someone who once faced that trap, I think it's best to warn you."  
  
She stood up. "I'm going upstairs for a little while. Please let me know if you  
need anything before you go to bed."  
  
"Thank you," Julian said, surprised. She tilted her head to one side in  
acknowledgement, and padded out of the kitchen.  
  
Julian sat for a long time, over an hour according to Mrs. Anar's Betazoid,  
ceramic kitchen clock. The baby slept deeply, as if Julian had all of his trust. Julian  
looked down at him, played with one small fist, and thought about what Mrs. Anar  
had said.  
  
If he took on the baby, if he were allowed to raise it, he would probably be  
trapped, just as Mrs. Anar said. There would be no way to keep his parents out of it.  
His mother liked to say that one shouldn't avoid opportunities, because they came  
from God. On the other hand, this baby deserved better than a homeless busker's  
life. The only way Julian could do this properly would be to go home to Australia  
with his mother. But, he couldn't put another child into his father's hands--one had  
been more than enough.  
  
The decision made, he did not hesitate. He gently put the baby into the carrier,  
then went to pack. He could be stealthy, when he chose. He snuck back and forth  
outside the bedroom where his mother slept, gathering the few things he had in his  
room. He had learned to pack light, since his father had moved his family all over  
the sector for most of Julian's life. Julian realized now that part of this had been to  
throw off any suspicion of his criminal enhancements. And, of course, it had made it  
easier for his father to play omnipotent patriarch to his wife and son.  
  
Julian returned to the kitchen with his juggling kit and a duffle bag. He knelt by  
the baby, who still slept, and ruffled his hair. He leaned down to kiss the boy's  
cheek.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't take care of you. I want to, but I can't, not the  
way you deserve. Don't worry. Mrs. Anar will find you a good home."  
  
With no more ceremony, he stood up, picked up his bags, and left the house.  
  
  
  
Mrs. Anar found him in the orbital shuttle station out on Buchanan Street, two  
hours later. He had walked all the way up to the station in the pouring rain to save  
money, but it hadn't helped much. Now, he was sitting on a bench across from the  
ticket booth, glumly comtemplating the reality that Mars was about as far away as  
he could get. He didn't like the idea; his mother had cousins on Demos. He just  
couldn't see any alternative.  
  
When he looked up and saw Mrs. Anar come through the rotating door, he was  
almost unsurprised. Nor was he surprised to see that she was angry.  
  
"I'm sorry I left him behind," he said as she approached him. "I know what I said,  
but I couldn't take good care of him right now. I thought he would be better off with  
you--or whoever you could find to take him."  
  
"But, I thought you---" Mrs. Anar stopped. A strange look came over her face, and  
then, she didn't look angry anymore. "I thought he was awfully alert for a newborn,"  
she said.  
  
She sat down on the bench next to him. "Have you decided where you'll go?"  
  
Julian laughed bitterly. Suddenly, he felt very tired. "Not far, on what I've got."  
  
"How about Vulcan?" she said, as if she were suggesting he go to Edinburgh.  
Then, she pulled out a small, blue velvet bag and handed it to him. "This should be  
enough."  
  
Confused, Julian took it. He peered into the bag. "God, there must be 50 strips of  
latinum in here."  
  
"I believe that a return ticket to Vulcan costs 20," Mrs. Anar replied. "And the  
Vulcans won't charge you for your keep while you're there. Give me your hand."  
  
Julian didn't argue anymore. He gave her his hand. Reaching into her coat  
pocket, she pulled out a small, gold ink pen. Deftly, she made three rows of blocky,  
rune-like symbols on the inside of his wrist. She finished with a flourish.  
  
"When you get to Vulcan," she said. "Ask for a man named Surol. This writing is  
Bajoran. He'll understand the message. He helped me once, and we've stayed  
friends over the years. He'll help you, too."  
  
She stood up to go. Julian looked up at her. "Why?" he asked. "Why are you  
helping me run away?"  
  
She smiled sadly. "I was once like you. On my planet, we used to be ruled by our  
d'jarras, our caste marks. What we did in life, who we married, where we lived, was  
determined at birth. When I was 14, I told my mother that I didn't want to be an icon-  
maker like her. She beat me and locked me in a cellar for a week. After that, I  
escaped to Vulcan, and started a new life.  
  
"You don't have to be what your parents want you to be, Julian," she continued.  
"I loved Bajor. I miss it, and when the Cardassian Empire invaded my home, it  
broke my heart. But, the Bajor I left was arrogant and cruel to anyone who didn't fit  
in. I do hope that when my people break the Cardassian yoke, they won't go back  
to that. I hope that you'll find the same freedom on Vulcan that I did."  
  
She leaned over and hugged him. Julian hugged her back with more feeling  
than he had ever shown his mother. "Goodbye, Julian." She kissed his forehead.  
"Good luck."  
  
"What about the baby?" he called after her as she walked away.  
  
"Don't worry," she replied. "He's in good hands, now.. God's hands, as you  
Humans say." Then, she was gone.  
  
Julian sat for a long time, looking down at his Christmas gift. No one had ever  
offered him his freedom before. Hard to believe that it only cost 50 strips of latinum.  
Slowly, he stood up and approached the ticket counter. He counted out 20 strips of  
latinum, one by one, from the blue velvet bag and pushed them across the counter.  
  
"I'd like a return ticket to Vulcan," he said.  
  
END 


End file.
